An acute allergy to intimacy

by
"One's company, two's a crowd and three's a party." - Andy Warhol

"One's company, two's a crowd and three's a party." - Andy Warhol

This below entry was written 2 weeks ago under the influence of blood-surging anxiety. I am in a calmer state at the moment and I re-read my writing and realized what a neurotic psycho-bitch I am (like I didn’t know pssshft). But for your (and my) amusement, I will still post my 2-week-old ramblings as a reminder of my neurotic psycho-bitch tendencies. Here goes. You might want to take a bathroom break first; this’ll be a while.

“Let’s talk about love. Not really love but intimacy and everything that comes with it. I am allergic. It’s official. Okay I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the very beginning, a very good place to start.
This story starts with the groan-triggering sentence ‘so there’s this guy.’
This guy I’ve known for quite a while. He’s a friend of the family, which makes him not even a ‘guy’ but a regular person, an audience of me at my most bare; without the mascara and the witty eager-to-please gimmicks that so often work as bait on my hook before I reel them in and then proceed to throw them back in the swamp after I feel like I’ve earned my trophy swordfish.
Argh, I’m making myself sound like a heartless manizer, but yes, I must admit that conquering a person of the opposite sex is a very amusing sport.
So back to ‘this guy’. Because that is what he’s become: a guy. And this guy is the reason for this self-centered and heart-opening post.
It started out with an exchange of artistic knowledge, then we talked about Freud, then it evolved into a passionate conversation about personal philosophies. Then somehow the impenetrable armor I have so craftily built around my heart cracked and a hazy fume called intimacy managed to seep its way in. At first I thought it was a temporary Freudian slip. Nothing fatal. I spoke too soon. That damn Freud.

I have never before in my life opened myself up like this to a person, let alone a boy. This is probably why I get over failed relationships so easily, easier than that time when I had to get over losing my favorite Zara bag to the gnawing jaws of my ex-boyfriend’s dog. If I never let them in in the first place, it won’t be hard to get them out, right? That was my superpower, that was why I was extraordinary, because I was emotionally invincible. Sure, I was a cold, hard bitch, but I was strong and the opposite of vulnerable. Now I’m naked and ordinary and a human being.
I was the Peter Petrelli of relationships; I could never be struck down because I could regenerate my heart like a mutilated starfish.
One word keeps surging in my veins now: FEAR.
Intimacy used to be so fun when it was just physical. The human heart is such a complicated contraption. I wish I had a user’s manual right now.

It is now 24 hours later, and I feel raw. I am afraid because the toxic fumes of intimacy have spread. I feel like I’m Mayor of Raccoon City and zombies have infested the premises. My comfort zone has been breached.

I do realize this self inflicted drama of mine is no Mumbai catastrophe, nor is it a global threat, nor is it a political scandal but this minuscule dilemma has possessed my mind and I can’t seem to think about anything else.
I feel alive and afraid and human. I wish I could die again because you can’t die when you’re already dead.”

Right. It is now 379 hours later, and I feel silly. Toxic fumes of intimacy? Comparing my comfort zone to a fictional city in a video game? Calling my heart a starfish? Using Heroes references to describe my attitude towards relationships? Welcome to cuckoo-ville. Sheesh.

Hello everybody, my name is Annisa Dharma and I am a recovering intimacy-phobe. Do be gentle.

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7 Responses to “An acute allergy to intimacy”

  1. Bob Says:

    Repeat the above into a tape recorder in an emotional, high pitched voice and then play it back to yourself. You sound like an absolute nightmare. Chill out or prepare your house for six stray cats.

  2. nyscha Says:

    Yeah, no shit, Bob, the whole point of the post was to confirm that my emotional life was a self-inflicted nightmare.
    But I don’t actually see the point of you reading all of that up there and then repeating what I wrote in the more compact form of a comment though. Rhetoric observations are boring.

    Stray cats are for women who can’t get laid, not for women who can’t get emotionally intimate. Irrelevant case of stereotyping there, Bobs, better luck next time.

  3. tbelfield Says:

    Well, I never was a big fan of Dr. Freud anyway. By the by do you ever have the feeling you would like to go back in time? I do. It’s my worst flaw. Perhaps.

  4. nanedesu Says:

    Funny thing is… There’s a quote from the infamous TV series Grey’s Anatomy that I really like… It goes like this: “Intimacy is a four syllable word for ‘Here is my heart and soul. Please grind them into hamburgers and enjoy..!'”

    Haha… So I don’t blame you for being intimacy-phobic… ;p Hey, but at least it’s better than being a commitment-phobic..🙂 and you’re a pretty committed person right?

  5. Marmalade Says:

    Human beings are idiots. I will be pleased to leave this meaty shell and go home.

  6. dylan Says:

    dont think twice, its allright…

  7. zettettyCab Says:

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